One Day's Memory
by jervaulx
Summary: World reknowned pianist Ryoutaro Tsuchiura returns to Japan for a concert and finds himself staying longer than he had planned, when his past decided to catch up with him the last minute. One mistake led him standing before an altar with Manami Mori by his side, the woman he had wanted to avoid at all costs. /a loi-jervaulx collaboration.


_disclaimer: we do not own Kin'iro no Corda_

_**PROLOGUE**_

The scotch wasn't working. Something wasn't quite right.

Ryoutaro Tsuchiura placed himself comfortably by the wall-length window. He lifted a white stick up his lip and lit it up with a Zippo. It was bad enough that he had to come back to this place; the rain made it much worse. The downpour started when he'd arrived this afternoon. Now it was coming down in sheets against the hotel window.

"Remind me again why I'm here."

Ryou shifted his eyes from the end of the lighted stick towards the man who was leaning on the wall opposite to him. He almost forgot that Len was there. Ever since he arrived in the hotel, they've done a little talking. They probably spent less time talking and invested more of their minutes drinking. Len had just arrived a week before he did and he was one of the few friends Ryou still had contact with. Now, he was left asking himself why he had phoned Len in the first place when he really could've spent this night alone.

Len was getting sober, which was why he started talking again. Mozart's 7th Symphony was playing subtly out the all-around speakers he had in his room. It wasn't the calmest symphony, but it was strangely the most appropriate song at the moment. Len glanced outside, still waiting for an answer, and wished he'd spent this night doing something more productive, rather than suffering a headache.

Ryou exhaled a great deal of smoke through his mouth before resting his head on the wall, eyes closing as Mozart's descant engulfed him. "How's Kahoko? Is she doing well?" he asked, lifting his hand to his mouth again for another puff.

Len rolled his eyes and started walking towards a nearby sofa, a hand plastered on his face. He plumped down, feeling the alcohol's effect getting worse. He carelessly had his feet rest on the coffee table, ignoring the clanking the glasses made as he set them aside. "She's doing fine. Working as a violin teacher has actually made her think about having kids but I don't think we should be having them now, especially when I'm still in the middle of taking my masters."

Ryou's amber eyes darkened, his face turning bittersweet at the mention of children. He used to like them and had wanted some of his own one day. That was, until the incident years ago.

Tapping the ash off on the silver tray, Ryou shook his head in displeasure and looked on. The weather was still in its worst condition, causing traffic from below. He started wondering if Kami-sama had ordered the clouds to agree to his emotions ever since that fateful day he lost her.

He wondered how she was. Was she fine? Was she a mother now? Was she being treated better than how he'd treat her before? He felt his nostrils flare and fought the tears coming up his eyes. Ryou looked around the room and grazed upon where his misfortune had gotten him. He was now a world-renowned pianist and the most sought-after man in the music industry. He'd provided well for himself and made his parents proud, even though he spent most of the holidays overseas. He'd work himself out harder than before that he was able to afford the luxuries in life. Who would've thought he'd reach this point?

If he knew that he would've had all of these in exchange for that one thing he truly cared about, he would've told Kami-sama to take it all back and give it to someone else. All his life, his friends, family, and mentors supported him. His talent was greatly recognized by the people who have witnessed it in action, but Ryou never really found himself caring. Only one person's opinion counted during that time. Her praise was enough to make him feel confident. If he had to choose between playing in great halls and staying late at night in some shacked up piano room with that one person, he'd choose the latter.

Ryou brought the stick up against his lips and exhaled. Realization hit him again that even if he had chosen her, she wouldn't have chosen him. She would've proffered the better life rather than being some piano teacher's wife. Growing up sucked. They were fine the way they were in high school and before graduating college. Then ambitions got in the way. A better life would still beat a happy life.

Killing the flare, Ryou rubbed the end of the cigarette against the tray and lit another one.

She had her chance then. She could've been easily swayed by his promises of endless love and happiness, no matter how cheesy it sounded. Ryou stared blankly up the sky and allowed Mozart to pull him into his misery. Even if he chose her, she wouldn't have chosen him.

But if she did, what would they be now? If she had left with him, would she—

Len groaned at the couch as he blindly searched for his phone by the end table. "Kahoko must be worrying." The green-haired lad smirked and reached for his scotch. It's funny how Len, being the cold man that he was, turned out to be Kahoko's loving husband. The reason for Len's presence in his hotel room came back to him as quickly as it left: he was avoiding loneliness.

Ryou felt alone and sucked up by hatred. He wasn't the most unpleasant man alive, but he might as well be that. He couldn't remember the last time his heart felt genuinely light. Unwanted memories of a blonde-haired woman ran through his head, aided by alcohol and nicotine. His heart stopped beating, unsure of what to feel. Despite of his need of air, he pressed his lips on the cigarette he held and sucked all he wanted. He felt anxious and mad. He felt crushed.

"Take it easy there. That isn't fresh air you're taking in." Len reminded his friend as he held the phone up after speed-dialing Kahoko's number. Ryou felt the smoke jam up in his chest. For a moment there, he felt comfortable holding it in. Realizing that he had to let it out, he exhaled heavily and felt his chest tighten. And it wasn't because of the smoke.

Len left fifteen minutes later, right after the hotel staff got him a taxi. Ryou shut his door and went back to his place by the window, stretching his arms to relieve himself from stress. Grabbing his box of cigarettes along the way, he pulled his phone out and checked what he had missed for the past few hours.

57 messages and 65 missed calls. _Guess I missed a lot_, Ryou chided himself as he let his phone drop to his side. Normally, anyone would be alarmed to receive this much but Ryou was sure there was nothing to panic about. All 57 messages must've been from his personal assistant, asking if he's landed safely and if he wanted more things that he didn't really need at the moment. The missed calls would've been divided between his concerned assistant and excited relatives, maybe a few lost calls from other businessmen's assistants asking him for a performance of some sort.

At the moment, Ryou was more interested in sleeping than any of his appointment or schedule. But if the prize of sleep was a certain blonde's haunting smile, then so be it. God knows he had lived through the same ordeal for the past three years.

And he constantly wondered how he had survived the tortuous torment.


End file.
